Consequences of Falling
by natzone
Summary: After years of scheming, the Goblin King has finally tricked Sarah back Underground. He allows her to flee; enjoying the chase. But as she falls deeper into his trap than he had intended, Jareth must struggle against his dark nature to ensure that she will be his forever. A Gothic Romance (with a twist). Jareth's POV. COMPLETE (FOR REALSIES)
1. She Chose Down

**Consequences of Falling**

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of the ideas or characters from the movie 'The Labyrinth'. I just like them all. Like, like-like them… and I very much enjoy writing stories about them. **

**I wish (yes, I said the words) that you may enjoy this story as well. **

**Right now.**

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"There are only the pursued, the pursuing, the busy and the tired."

_The Great Gatsby, F. Scott Fitzgerald_

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Chapter One: She Chose Down

He stalked down one of his many cold corridors, every inch of his skin tingling with excitement. The only sound in the night came from his booted footsteps, amplified by the surrounding silence.

"Sarah! Come on out now!"

He stilled and sniffed at the air, half-closing his eyes when it hit him. It was faint, but it was there. Her smell—something like a blend of summer fruits with a sharp hit of metallic aftertaste. Sweet and dangerous. He held the breath, keeping her perfume in his lungs for as long as he could. But it was so diluted. She must have left this part of the castle a long while ago.

He quickly fettered the Beast inside that screamed he must catch her now, have her now. He was determined not to rush this. Now that he finally had her where he wanted her, he would take his time. Enjoy every moment. When was the last time he had felt so alive?

She must enjoy the chase every bit as much as him, he realised. He laughed aloud and the noise resounded around the walls, adding layers of darkness. Why else would she run? She must know there was nowhere that she could go in his own castle he would not be able to find her.

He sniffed again. The faint smell of her drew him down the shadowy corridor, each step bringing him closer. He stopped when he reached an intersection. A choice—left, right and straight on. Here, the trail was confused, beckoning him in all directions. He smiled, sharp teeth gleaming. Clever girl. She never disappointed.

A sudden traitorous thought broke through his predatory calm. What if she did find a way to escape him? She had friends here. She wielded the loyalty of others with ease. She was intelligent and resourceful. If anyone could do it…

He would lose her again. An icy sliver of pain slid down his insides. A curious, first time feeling. Was it worth the risk?

Suddenly impatient, he ripped off his right leather glove and threw it to the ground. He would have to be sure of his prize before he could begin to enjoy the game again. In another second, his pointed teeth had ripped into his fleshy palm. Normally, when he used magic, he took the time to cut neat, straight lines so that his blood flowed evenly, but there was no time tonight. Tonight every second was precious.

His pressed his bloody hand up against the stone wall and concentrated. Wind built powerfully around him, thrashing and whipping his wild hair. The flame torches lining the castle walls flickered and spat, nearly extinguishing. A sharp pulse of orange light ebbed and flowed from his hand where it joined the castle.

His castle was empty. He had made sure of it. This game was far too important to risk outside interference. Tonight, the whole castle was only big enough for the two of them. But even if they could see him, the goblins may not have recognised their King at that moment. They were used to seeing him placid in his arrogance, dripping with boredom. Now his whole being seemed to vibrate intensity, hair messed in every angle, his palm bleeding into the wall.

He could feel his mind expanding. He was the land. The Underground. He was every grain of every stone of the castle. He could feel her now, running through a hallway. He focused on that part of the castle, localising the feeling. She was still well within his trap.

A sharp pain from his chest told him that it had been a long while since he had last remembered to breathe. He filled his lungs again.

It was another first, this feeling. It was different from any other time he had melded with his castle. This time, she was a part of it; within him. Just the thought of it set a slow fire burning in his stomach, itching to spread. He relished the sensation of her bare feet thrumming over his stone self, the whisper of her full skirts as they brushed against the wall. Linked with its King, the land held its breath.

And now he knew exactly where she was. Everything was going perfectly to plan. She ran from him, but without being aware of it she was only drawing closer to the end of their hunt. He could feel her come to the end of a passageway, at the point where it fed into a spiral stairwell. She could go up, or down. His stomach clenched.

"Up, Sarah. Come to me."

She paused, hesitating. She seemed to cock her head to the side, listening for any sound of predator. Moving cautiously, she approached the stairs. Could she sense him—a part of the rocks that held her? Could she feel him watching her; wanting her? He could feel one of her bare feet touch the stair leading upwards. She paused on the first step, waiting.

He sucked in his breath. When would she take the next step? Then, suddenly she spun on her heel and started running down the stairs faster than was safe on the uneven stones.

He smiled indulgently. She was ever defiant, even when not aware of it.

No matter. A part of him was relieved that the game would not be over so soon. It was the game he had been born to play. He could have stayed locked in this consciousness with his land, watching her, feeling her near forever. He was mesmerised with the feeling.

The spell was broken when he sensed what she was clutching in her hand.

She had dared much.

It was almost a relief, the feeling of cold, clean anger. Being around Sarah had exposed him to so many new sensations that now he welcomed the familiar violence in his heart.

He pulled his palm away from the wall and once again tore at it savagely with his teeth. The blood flowed freely from the wound. He pressed the throbbing hand against the wall in the same spot and gathered his magic and his will. With a roar, he pushed against the stone with his bleeding hand slowly stepped into the castle wall. It closed behind him as soon as he moved through it, leaving only a dripping mark as a sign he had been there. He moved through the solid bricks, gathering speed.

The time was now. It was time to confront her.

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_Hi everybody! Thanks for taking the time to read my first fanfic. _

_Next, Chapter the Second: Wherein Jareth and Sarah Meet and the Mysterious Object Carried by the Girl that Hath so Incited the Wrath of the King is Revealed._


	2. The Lost and the Lonely

Chapter Two: The Lost and the Lonely  


He passed through the stones, sliding through them as though they were water. His anger pushed him on, made him stronger. If she was determined to face cruelty, he would not let her down. As he moved quickly through the castle, her scent grew stronger. He could still feel her—coming close to the end of her endurance, running almost blindly, close to stumbling with each step.

Now that the time had come, he was eager for confrontation. Why had he been trying to delay it? She had made him soft. He shook his head, which had an interesting rippling effect inside the rock before it settled. He would show her who was soft. He gathered his strength and slammed his body against the wall from the inside, bursting out of the silent stone world. The connection with the castle was severed—he was once again alone. With calm composure, he adjusted the cuff of his military-style jacket.

He was exactly where he needed to be.

It was the spiral stairs; the same stairs that Sarah was running. But he was ahead of her—all he had to do was stay where he was and she would run straight to him. The thought fed his inner Beast, who began to howl and tear against the chains that held him bound.

He could hear her. Her feet struck unevenly against the stairs as she ran in circles, winding her way down to where he stood. He quickly positioned himself, leaning with a careful casualness against the wall, arms crossed. She would be here soon.

His anger had a strange edge to it. He unfolded himself and stood straight. Crossed his arms again. As soon as she was here, as soon as it was over, everything would return to normal. He bounced imperceptibly on the balls of his feet. His skin prickled. It was too hot. The torches on the walls were burning too brightly.

He raised his torn hand to his lips with the palm facing upwards and blew a breath over it, spraying a spell that chilled the air, snuffing out the lights one by one. There. That was better. He had always felt more alive in the icy darkness. He absent-mindedly ran his hand through his hair, smearing blood through the choppy strands.

He waited, listening. No footfall. She was not running anymore. She moved no closer.

The darkness. Of course. She was not like him—not in this. She lived in the light, and he had taken it from her.

This was outside his plans. Would she start moving again? Eventually she would need to. He could stay silent, patiently wait for her to appear. But who knew when that would be? He was all restless anger and energy, almost bursting from standing still. He could not resist calling out, making a connection.

"Well? And what is your next move, foolish girl?" He was pleased with the sound of his voice—it was as cold as the stones that it echoed off.

She made no answer, but it pleased him to imagine what she might look like—all lovely wide eyes and shivering skin. Frantically searching for any sign of him; shaking with fear. He knew that the echoes bouncing off the cavernous stairs from every direction would make it impossible for her to tell where his voice was coming from.

He could hear her breathing get louder, more panicked. It was like music in his ears.

After a pause, he heard an echo come back to him.

"I'm not a little girl anymore." It was her beautiful voice, always so full of warmth. At the moment, it was laced with a delicious tremble. It hooked under his skin, tugging him forwards, drawing him nearer to her. He walked slowly up the spiral stairs, going to her like a sleepwalker.

"Strange that you do not dispute the other accusation."

"What?"

"You are a fool, Sarah." He felt his anger rise again, burning in his chest. It was his sword and his shield. "I have seen what it is that you carry."

So close now. He reached out with his bare hand to brush his fingertips along the outside wall of the circular stairs as he moved.

A few more shadowed steps. His heart began to beat erratically.

Then, the rest of the world fell away.

He could see her.

She was there, just before him, standing with her back turned. She was really there. But she had not yet seen him in the shadows. Perhaps the darkness meant that she could not.

His chest contracted. He tried to absorb every detail of her, locking it deep within. Her slender frame; her delicate curves. The shape of her neck. The porcelain skin at her arms, her naked feet. The way her long, dark hair tumbled freely down her back. Had she always been this small?

He approached her carefully, soaking up the shadows and wrapping them around him like a cloak. Her smell was so strong, he filled his lungs with her. She was so near now. With a few more strides, he might be able to reach out and touch the small area of soft skin at the back of her neck, exposed where her hair parted, just above the line where her white blouse ended. She had always seemed beyond his reach, somehow. But here she was. If he wanted, he could move to her now, touch her. Still, he stayed his step. It was her move.

She was still. Motionless for long moments. Tense, but still.

So she would deny him.

He would not allow her. He would prove that his will was the stronger. By his will, she would know he was there. She would turn to face him. He raised his hand again and with another breath blown over his blood, the torches flared to life.

She whirled, blinking in the sudden light.

Even in the middle of his controlled fury, he could not stop the sharp intake of breath at the sight of her in the flickering light. The face that had filled his dreams every night since he first saw it. His private torment and his best desire.

He could not help the slight flutter of his eyes as they met hers. Even as she stood before him exhausted and afraid, her bright eyes were more powerful—less frightened—than he had imagined.

They were both still for a minute. Maybe more.

He shifted his weight forward slightly, and her hand shot out towards him.

He saw the metal flash in her hand as she waved it in his direction, cutting wildly at the air. He took a few hasty steps back down the stairs, out of her reach.

"So it is true," he hissed. "You have brought iron to my land."

Her eyes flickered down to her hand. She was clearly not expecting to keep him at a distance with such a small knife.

Perhaps she really is that foolish, he thought. Perhaps she is not even aware of the true nature of what she holds. Something inside him grabbed onto the idea tightly. It was so tempting to believe. He might be able to forgive ignorance.

He collected his calm again, forged sharp with anger. He inclined his head, studying her. She was pale, drawn, shaking; absolutely lovely. He needed to know.

"Do you even know what it is that you hold?"

She took a small step towards him, pointing the knife straight out towards his heart. He gracefully slid backwards the same distance, mirroring her step.

She stood taller. "I know that it's making you back away. That's enough."

Thoughtless girl. As though bravado could ever mask fear. "Sarah, do you really mean to do me harm this night? Do you truly wish to be my enemy?"

She looked surprised at the intensity of his words. Her mouth opened slightly, but no words followed. Subtly, he leaned forward, his unblinking eyes never wavering from her in the half-light.

He tried to keep his voice low, controlled. "Do you have any idea what the smallest speck of iron would do to me?"

Her answer here would change everything. This could be it. As ever, he would give her what she wished for. If she willed it, this could be their final dance. But then, maybe she was innocent.

Within the perfect stillness of the moment, he was not sure which he preferred.

She looked up at him, torn. She clutched the knife in her hand so tightly it drained her hand of blood flow. Her free hand clenched and unclenched, nails biting the soft flesh.

Then, she turned back up the stairs and her skirts spun with her, almost brushing against his leg in slow-motion. Her body coiled, ready to run.

He grinned. The game was starting again.

But something was wrong. In her haste to escape, her body was turning at a strange angle; off-balance.

He heard the bone at her ankle make a snapping sound. A shout—more surprised than pained—burst from her lips as she fell on the stairs leading away from him, hitting her head with a sickening thud on the stone. Her head bounced once against the hard ground, and then she was still.

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_Big thanks to my beta (my poor sister, who thinks my LabyLove is weird: 'you're playing that song AGAIN?', but likes me anyway). Her reaction to this chapter was priceless. I will never forget her screeching at me, "Did you just kill Sarah? You just killed Sarah! Did you?!" In that moment, I felt that maybe I had spent too much time in Jareth's headspace—I sadistically enjoyed the reaction. I think most writers are happy when they evoke emotions in their readers, just by putting certain words together in a certain order. _

_Thankyou for all your support—I loved getting those notifications that somebody has followed or favourite-d my story. It's an amazing feeling—there's nothing else quite like it._

_And a big shout out to everyone who took the time and effort to review my first chapter, weighing in at only a measly 1000 words… I really appreciate it. _

_Feel free to review my story… *shuffles feet* Not that, you know, it means THAT much to a new writer… (yeah! way to go nat, playing it cool like a cucumber)_

_ Stay tuned for Chapter the Third—Wherein We Discover the Fate of Our Fallen Heroine and the Dark King Who so Dotes upon Her._


	3. Live Without the Sunlight

Chapter Three: Live Without the Sunlight

His anger fled, abandoning him, leaving him cold.

It was a mistake, a lie. She was so forceful, so strong and full of life. There was no way that body could be her, lying there so silent.

He could not move. Even his heart stilled. He could only stare at her, eyes fixed where she had fallen face-down with her dark hair streaming all around her, mixing with her own blood. He could fix this. How? He had to remember how. Everything around him was still, but time was moving too fast. After a long moment, the strange thought passed through his mind that he was stuck—that he would be frozen watching her equally unmoving form forever.

Their game would never be finished. She would never dance again. So motionless. All her colour was gone. He felt dizzy, disengaged. Maybe he would fall over as well. He might just lie a while next to her—just until she woke.

The Goblin King had never wished his whole life. It would have been a waste of time, because who would have heard? Who would grant his wish? But now he could understand why humans cried out their wishes, even when they did not know if anybody was listening. Everything that he was screamed his one desire: _breathe again, my heart!_

Suddenly she groaned and stirred.

The numbness left him in a rush, replaced by a relief so sharp that it made him feel sick.

She curled in on herself like a small child. A little later, her eyes half-opened and she struggled to lift her head; heavy and awkward. Her hand moved to touch the place where blood was flowing from a dark patch at her hairline. She moaned groggily.

He shifted, not sure which way to move. Torn with a frenzied need to move closer—to confirm that mortality had not stolen her away. But then, the question loomed large in his mind: once he was closer, what then?

At his slight movement, she looked in his direction and seemed to remember where she was all in a rush. It flicked a switch inside her—fresh adrenaline gave her fresh strength. She threw herself to her knees, still a little off-balance, and frantically hunted around the shadowed stones with her hands, searching for the fallen blade. The one thing that had the power to keep him at a distance.

He saw the knife. It had dropped out of her hand as she fell, tumbling, landing many stairs nearer to him than her. He moved to it, two graceful steps. She was still scrambling, panicked. With his hands on his hips, the King nudged the silvery blade slightly with one boot so that she would hear the metallic scrape against the stone. So that she would look up.

She looked back at him, still on her knees, and saw the knife impossibly out of her reach. In the half-light, he saw a single tear fall out of her right eye, streaking down her cheek and mirroring the dry blood-trail next to it on her face.

Shaky, exhausted, she tried to stand; to launch herself into a run once again. She started strong, but fell as soon as she tried to put weight on her ruined ankle. She caught her tumbling weight jarringly with her hands, scraping them on the hard stone. Her face twisted in a mute scream of pain. Collapsed again, she clutched at her foot and sucked in a jagged breath through clenched teeth.

He wondered what he would do if she lost consciousness.

Trembling, she stretched a hand out in front of her, reaching up the stairs. She started to crawl away from him, leaning most of her weight on her elbows and pushing herself up the stairs with her good foot, dragging herself over the rough stairs. Her clothes caught on snags in the rocks, ripping tiny patches at places. She did not have enough remaining strength to prevent her swollen ankle from making clumsy contact with the steps as she climbed. She started to sob, still crawling.

He frowned. She should not crawl. It was everything he treasured about her—that she would keep going, long after all others had fallen. But she should never crawl. This was not a part of their game.

He looked down at the knife, where it lay next to his boot. Such a small thing. And yet, how easily it could destroy him. He looked back up at Sarah.

The Goblin King slowly bent to pick up the metal, using his gloved hand. He carefully held it away from his body, between his thumb and first finger. He slowly moved up the stairs, carrying the knife as though it had the power to come to life in his hand and sink poisoned fangs into his skin.

It did not take long for him to catch up to her, even moving as tentatively as he was. He moved a few steps ahead of her, blocking the path of her painful crawl.

"The game is over, Sarah," he said, towering over her. 

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_Keep watching for Chapter the Fourth—Wherein the King Gives the Girl Certain Powers and a Tentative Understanding betwixt Light and Darkness Begins to Blossom. _

**Artemis: **I am absolutely honoured that my story is the first Labyfic you've read. And even more pleased that you're enjoying it. Hopefully I can do the fandom justice, and make you want to read more... there are some AMAZING stories here.

**kit Kat: **Wait, someone told you to read my story?! Wow. That really made my day. Seriously. Nothing could wipe the grin off my face all day. Your review was so good, it made me want to hijack a passing car just so that I could get to the nearest computer and update.


	4. Certain Powers

Chapter Four: Certain Powers

"The game is over, Sarah," he said, towering over her.

"Do it then," she said simply, looking up at him from where she lay. Then, she turned her head away from him, resting it on folded arms. At that moment—bleeding, broken—she looked at peace, satisfied that she had given her best effort.

At the angle her head was turned, he could see the worst of the wound. It still bled. He swallowed. "You mistake me. I am not going to hurt you." His voice was too dry. Husky. He tried again. "I would not. Not like this."

She slowly looked up at him, searching. Trying to make sense of his words.

He held the knife out to her gently.

She did not move. She did not take the knife. Strange. Instead, she just kept staring at his hand as though she was expecting it to strike at any moment.

"Will you take it, Sarah?"

She shook her head slightly, an inch to the left and back. Even that small movement seemed to cause her pain. She dropped her head back onto her arms.

He made a frustrated sound. So stubborn.

He crouched gracefully at her side and slowly reached for her, the flashing knife bright against to his black glove. She made no move to pull away. She did not even look up to see what he was doing. Perhaps she had reached the limit of her defiance. He frowned.

His hand was so close. His smallest finger would only have to move a fraction to find itself swathed in the tangled hair that spilled out around her.

He closed his hand tight. Until this was done, he would not touch her. He could not risk it. Instead, he opened his gloved palm against the dirty stones beside her. He held it there for a moment, fighting temptation. But he was in control. He pulled his hand back, and it came back without the knife.

He quickly stood straight again and without looking away from her, he moved backwards up the stairs, out of striking distance. Then he watched to see what she would do.

She lay still. Arms folded, head resting.

She was so still, he began to doubt himself. Why was she not moving? His heart beat violently. This was not a part of his plan. Too much inaction. Waiting had never been his strength.

Slowly, so slowly he thought he might be dreaming it, she turned her head. She saw the knife within reach. Hope flared in her eyes like a living thing. She grasped for it with clumsy fingers—wrapped them around the same place his own hands had been so recently, still warm from his heat.

Finally.

The girl struggled into a sitting position and tenderly dragged her weight across to rest her back up against the wall of the castle. Her eyes darted all around the cavernous staircase, looking all around, but sliding over him, determined not to look in his direction. For his part, he could look at nothing but her. He had almost lost her again.

She held onto the knife as though she was afraid it could disappear at any moment, melting through her fingers. Each shallow breath from her mouth created a foggy mist of vapour in the night's air, instantly absorbed by the surrounding chill. Almost like the castle was feeding off her, hungry for her warmth. Like it was trying to absorb her, with the faith that she would be able to breathe life into the clay.

It was such a mortal thing, to measure the passing of time. And yet, there was something about her, about being near her, that made the moments seem more worthy of being measured. He counted twenty-six puffs of air before she squared her shoulders and looked at him directly."Well, Goblin King? What now?"

He stiffened, startled that she had broken the silence. Swallowed. The Beast, never too far away, stirred once again. There she is. Smell her fear. She is yours. Make her yours.

He closed his eyes and collected his resolve. His will was stronger. The Beast snarled, backing down, but circling in a way that made it clear how quickly it would attack at the first sign of weakness.

When he opened his eyes again, he fixed his eyes on her and gestured to her ankle with a studied nonchalance. "If you will allow me, I would attend your wound."

Her eyes flickered. Surprise. She was so easy to read. But then, he was not altogether certain that he was masking his predatory gaze as effectively as he would wish. Probably not. Her eyes spoke of confusion and distrust. She looked at him as though she believed he would be as likely to consume her foot whole as he would be to inspect it for injury.

She absently ran a finger up and down the knife, then bounced it lightly in her hand as though she was reassured by its weight.

She nodded, once. It was all he needed.

He took slow strides towards her. Then he stood before her, on the same step. He softly lowered himself on one knee, near her feet. Her small body radiated nervousness, and he sensed that if he made any sudden movements, she would jerk away.

He breathed slowly and kept still, allowing her time to grow accustomed to the intimacy. He forced himself to lower his eyes, to break eye-contact with her so that he could focus on her injury. She had summoned him; called him to her side. He could not fail now.

He tried to fix his gaze on the ankle, swollen and bruised; partly hidden under her skirt. But his attention kept sliding to the corner of his eye where he could see her face. Behind her exhaustion, she was wary. Suspicious. She kept very still, the survival instincts of a weaker animal sensing a dangerous predator near. The knife by her side was set at a ready angle, in a way that showed she would be prepared to use it at a moment's notice. Good girl.

He leant his weight forward and pulled the dirt-stained hem of her skirt up a little; out of the way, sliding up her leg. There was only a brief moment of hesitation before he wrapped his hands lightly around her ankle. His fingers traced over her skin, gently probing the area for damage. He closed his eyes. He could feel the shattered bone. Every fragment.

It was not right, how fragile she was. How breakable. With no effort at all, he could exert the same amount of pressure on each one of her bones, could make them all snap.

He tore his hands off her foot and shifted his weight back away from her. The Beast was not stronger.

"That bad?" she said, with a grim smile.

He shook his head, clearing shadowy thoughts. "I will fix this, Sarah."

He looked down at his naked hand. He would take the time; do it right. He would not frighten her by rushing. There was a small part of the palm yet undamaged. He turned his back to her, shielding her from the sight as he used teeth to make a neat cut.

He kept his voice steady but avoided eye contact. "Prepare yourself. This will hurt."

He turned back to her and pressed the hand against her foot, applying pressure. She bore it stoically. Made no sound. She closed her mouth together, so tightly that the remaining colour fled from her bloodless lips, trapping any pain inside.

He searched for the broken parts of the bone, finding all the tiny shards. Then, concentrating, he began the slow process of fitting them back in place. He bound each piece back together as a whole, wrapping it with a warm magic and numbing the pain as best he could. The magic enveloped the area in an orange glow that spread up his arm from where he touched her.

The magic faded. He looked down to where his skin touched hers. Strange. The residual glow had not left. He held onto her ankle, unwilling to break the contact. "I have done my best, but it will still need rest. Don't put too much weight on it."

He risked looking up at her. She was closer than he had expected, and looking straight into his eyes. She held his gaze for a moment, then looked down to where he was still holding her foot. He let it go.

She replaced his fingers with hers, running them over the ankle. "But that's amazing," she said. "It doesn't hurt at all. It feels like new."

"Trust me when I say it is not fully healed. I am no Healer."

Her face was a confused swirl of emotion. Something within him spoke firmly: retreat. Back away; give her space. A voice—but not the Beast. Some other part of him that had been long silent. It was almost painful to move away from her, now that he was finally so close, but he obeyed the impulse.

He raised himself to his full height and moved from her until he rested his back on the wall opposite, never looking away. And then, he waited. Watching to see what she would do.

* * *

_Thanks for all of your support, it means a lot to me. _

_Especially all of the lovely reviews you've given me, which I have enjoyed to the exact same extent that any other normal person would. For example, the thought never crossed my mind to print them all out in different fonts on long strips of fabric so that I could knit them into a blanket that I could hug. Gosh, I love being normal._

_Join me for Chapter the Fifth: Wherein the Noble Reader Will Have Cause to Enquire: Is This a Kissing Book?_


	5. Nothing Ever Hurts Again

Chapter Five: Nothing Ever Hurts Again

His gaze wandered over her as though she was some foreign land. Unexplored and unknowable. Fascinating.

His eyes lingered over every inch of her, but finally came to rest the iron in her hand. That knife. The one flaw in his plan. He had calculated every scenario. Spent weeks, months, picturing them all in his head. It was the best way to trick her, he knew it. He knew that she would not be able to resist the sweet temptation of peaches.

Getting the peach to her had been surprisingly easy. In his years of watching over her, he had observed that humans had frequently sent each other gifts, especially around the advent of their birth. And so, he had simply waited until the stars aligned. Then, it had been a simple matter of sending her his gift, hidden in plain sight in a decorated basket full of different fruits.

In every scene, he had imagined her lifting the peach to her lips, breaking through the skin with her teeth, greedily tasting the juices.

He had never dreamed that she would use a small knife to split the fruit. That she would be holding it the moment the fruit touched her mouth. Perhaps he had been too eager. Teleporting her immediately, bringing her to his realm as soon as he had the power.

Still, he could not find it within himself to regret his blunder—she was here now.

His attention was captured by her movement.

She stretched her leg out and rolled the ankle gingerly, testing it. The leg peeked out from under her long skirts, and Jareth could see the muscles in her calf flex as she moved her foot. As she pressed the sole of her foot flat against the stone stair. Put a little weight on it. Then, she stood, shaky, still clutching the knife. She patted up and down her body, dislodging the dust and dirt she had collected. Slightly rearranged her skirt.

She looked up to see the King staring at her, not trying to disguise his hunger. Curious, she tilted her head to one side, studying him and trying to decipher his strange behaviour.

"Why were you chasing me?"

He shrugged tightly. Wasn't it obvious? "You were running."

He could see that she was still tensed, ready to run at any moment. The sight made something coil inside of him, made him want to roll onto the balls of his feet, ready to pounce when she made her move. He forced his stance into something more at ease.

"Your hand is hurt," she said.

It was his turn to be surprised. He was so sure she would start running again. That she would run as soon as her ankle was healed. But she was still standing there, not too far away, on the same step as him. And she had spoken to him, talked to him as though she cared. He looked down in wonder at the bloody mess of his palm. He had forgotten it.

"Can't you fix it?"

"No. Even Healers cannot heal their own injuries."

A pause, the length of several heartbeats.

She slowly lowered the knife. "May I?"

His lips twitched. "May you what, Sarah?"

She bent, knife in her hand. Then, she cut at the hem of her skirt, tearing a long, uneven strip of material away. She bundled the cloth in her hand, and moved towards him.

"Put out your hand," she commanded.

He extended his hand.

"Now, I'm not very good at this. You have to tell me if I hurt you," she said, looking up at him with luminous eyes.

Then she touched him softly, wrapping the material over and around his palm.

"At this moment, Sarah, I feel no pain." He closed his eyes and breathed her in. It was the closest they had ever been. And it was by her choice. Every nerve in his body had moved to his one hand, greedy for every brush of her skin against his own.

He opened his eyes. Looked down into her own eyes, busy at her task. He had always loved those eyes. He could build a world in those eyes. They seemed especially lovely at the moment, lowered and absorbed in binding his hand.

And then her gaze flickered up to his and he was shot through with a bolt of green under long lashes. For the first time, he saw the flecks of gold around their centre. As in dreams, where bizarre thoughts become certainties, he could see the hint of a question hovering around the edges; just for him.

The healing magic must have drained him more completely than he expected. His body felt strangely buoyant, like there was nothing to hold him down except the bare hand that she held. Her hands passed over his again and again, almost but never quite joined. Then, too quickly, it was over. She tied a knot in the makeshift bandage and dropped his hand.

He looked down at it, thinking. It was a clumsy job. He could have done a better job himself using only one hand. Any Healer would tell him to replace it. He looked at the dirty rag, sealed with her studious caresses. He flexed his hand lightly. He knew that the rag would have to rot off before he removed it.

He raised his head and moved his other, gloved hand towards her face.

Surprised, she flinched away from his reach. One hand fumbled for the knife in her pocket. Moving backwards, she could not see the castle wall behind her. He slid forwards, a silent warning on his lips. She jerked backwards at his movement and ran into the bricks, narrowly avoiding a flaming torch bracketed to the wall, but hitting her head hard against the stones. She swayed. A soft moan of pain crossed her pale lips, but she stayed standing. She even managed to raise the knife in front of her in a protective stance. The fire from the torch next to her threw harsh shadows over her features.

He paused mid-step, holding up his hands in an unconscious gesture of surrender. Really, the girl would be the death of him. She pressed her back up against the castle wall as though she could force her way through the solid bricks and escape him. He smiled. He could teach her how, if she stayed with him.

"Was that really necessary? I only mean to heal your other wound," he said, gesturing to her head.

"No, it's fine, really. You've done enough."

"Allow me to be the judge of that." One more silky step. "Trust me, Sarah."

She turned her head a little to the side, and her eyes narrowed as though she was listening to an inner voice. He wished he could hear what it was telling her, how he could best convince her. "Sarah. Your wound could be dangerous. Let me do this. Please." His voice tripped a little over the last word, and he realised that he had never before had cause to speak it.

And she seemed to recognise that fact somehow. She looked at him. Really looked. Eventually, she nodded with a quiet dignity and lowered the knife, but did not let it go.

He approached her carefully. She may be a wounded animal, but she still had claws. He moved slowly. So slowly that she had many chances to run, to resist, if she chose. It must be her choice. It would not be victory any other way.

She let him draw near, and still kept the knife lowered. He stopped a step away from her. So close yet again. He held his palm out towards Sarah at chest height. "The glove is tight. Would you help me?"

She looked from the glove to his bandaged hand. She looked up at him.

His lips turned up at the side. She never could resist a challenge.

With a wary shake of her head, she carefully tucked the knife away. She took a deep breath. Then, she wrapped her hands over his and worked the glove off his hand, pulling the leather over his skin, avoiding his dark gaze.

If she raised her head, she would see the hunger clear in his eyes. He wanted her to see it. And more than that, he longed to see it mirrored in her own eyes. He waited until her curiosity caused her to peek up at him through her long lashes.

Not moving away and never taking his eyes from her, he raised his freed hand to his lips. He gently sank his teeth into it, looking at her with the unblinking intensity of a wolf. Her eyes widened. Her lips parted a little, just enough so that he could see her pink tongue behind her teeth.

He slid the flesh of his palm in his mouth, and when he pulled it away, she could see that he had made a neat cut. He leaned into her and his mouth almost brushed her ear with his whisper. "Don't move."

He leaned into her a fraction, their bodies almost touching. He moved his hand within an inch of her skin, hovering over the injury at her hairline. He concentrated. This was delicate. He could not touch this wound, so it would require a greater amount of magic.

He called on the wind and it whispered in answer. It built quickly around them, wildly growing, pushing them from changing directions. Soon, they were locked in a powerful tempest—their own world of wind. She fought against it, seizing at her torn skirts as it wrestled her for control.

Struggling against the invisible force, she tried to move towards him, yelling words that the wind carried away before they could reach him. The gale pushed at them, buffeting them wildly.

He moved to shield her as best he could with his body, pressing her against the wall, protecting her. Her hair lashed in every direction, mixing with his, dancing together. Her darkness blended with his light.

The wind only gained in power. She clutched at the oversized collar of his jacket, fighting to stay standing; still weak from blood-loss.

It was time. The might of the wind was enough to feed his magic. He held out his hand, hovering it an inch from her head. The faint pulsing of the magic spread from his hand, growing, expanding, forming a protective bubble large enough for both of them—the calm of the storm where the howling wind could not enter.

The orange warmth of the magic surrounded them and sought out the injury—moving around the broken skin, and deeper, unseen, the bruised and bleeding tissue.

Jareth was not practiced in healing magic, but he knew that it was in its nature to bind and join, to make broken things whole. It was more powerful than he had expected. It seemed to be at work between the two of them as well—no part of his skin touching hers, but he had never felt closer to another being.

The roar of the wind died abruptly. The warm magic faded.

All he could hear was the sound of her panting breaths, mirroring his. She was so close that the air he breathed in mingled with the heat of her.

After a while, she let go of his jacket and leaned back against the wall.

He dropped his head, forced his breath to slow. Counted his loud heartbeats.

Then, he looked up again and studied her with burning eyes. One corner of his lips turned up. "Why are you trembling, little Sarah?"

She swallowed. "I… I must be cold. Your castle is cold."

The King stretched his arm out, lightly brushing the bare skin of her arm as it came to rest on the wall just above her shoulder. She trembled, her hand half-reaching for the knife. Then, still holding her eye contact, he gently reached for the nearby torch on the wall. He gathered the flame and scooped it down, cradling the fire in a ball between his hands, suspended in the air.

"Here. Try this." He took one of her hands in his. She did not pull against him, but let him guide it to where the fire burned above his hand. Closed within his larger hand, he held her in the flame, but did not let her burn. The warmth without the destruction. She looked up at him in wonder.

"Sarah," he breathed. "This I promise: if ever I find you cold, I will warm you." His hand tightened around hers, consuming the flame. He stepped closer, eyes flashing.

She flattened herself against the wall. "Wait… what are you doing?"

"Sarah, I thought you were dead. Gone. I need to kiss you now." Waves of liquid heat ran through him, warmer than any fire. His gaze was now fixed on her lips, still pale. He wondered if he could kiss the colour back into them.

Her hand moved to her pocket and closed around the knife. As if that could stop him now. The Beast growled his approval.

"If it is your wish to stop me from kissing you, you will have to use that knife."

He moved towards her, eyes flashing with a naked passion.

In the time it took for him to take the step, slow and steady, she had been busy. He found himself moving into the point of something sharp at his stomach. It made no difference. It did not matter now if the blade broke through his silken shirt. One way or another, he would lose himself to her tonight.

He leaned over the knife and reached for her. He held her head between his hands and pressed his lips fully against hers, moving them gently; part of him still afraid she might break. She made a small noise, at the back of her throat. It was so quiet that he might have missed it, if he had not been connected to her at the time. The vibration of the sound passed through him like a bolt of electricity.

It turned his world upside down.

She was stiff against him for a moment, then began to move her lips on his. He deepened the kiss, opening her lips, tasting her tongue. Her body leaned into him, her grip on the knife weakening.

His hand moved to her hairline, reverently touching the same skin it had healed only moments ago. His fingers tangled themselves through her thick hair, while his other hand moved to the back of her neck—seeking, deepening their kiss.

When they parted, he pressed his forehead against hers, close enough for their breath to mix. She shivered, eyes shadowed and powerful with something pure and unnamed.

He growled, an echo of his inner Beast. They were allied at last.

"I thought I told you to keep weight off that ankle." He moved a hand over her torn skirts, hooking a hand behind her knee and lifting her long leg off the ground, guiding it to wrap around his waist. He slid between her legs, resting her softness on his thigh. He kissed her, raw and wild, moving against her, and was rewarded with the same throaty noise from her; louder this time.

The knife dropped to the floor. Forgotten.

She moved now—her lips fighting his. Then moving along his jaw, scattering lingering kisses down to his taut neck. He felt her tongue wet against his pulse. He groaned brokenly. She broke the kiss, turning her head to look up at him with perfect, dancing eyes. "Are you sure it wasn't my other ankle?"

He was lost to her. He had always know it. His leaned into her, his hands moving under her, catching her other leg. He shifted his weight to pin her up against the cold stone wall and she locked her legs around him tightly. He moulded his aching body against hers; the perfect fit. He moved even closer, pressing his whole body against hers so that there was no space between them. In his hazed mind he no longer knew where he ended and she began.

_Still too far_, he growled in his head, feeling every curve of her body melt against him.

"Sarah," he rasped. "My Sarah. For me, there is only you. You are the only one I ever…"

She shook her head, brushing her lips over his. "Too much talking." Then, she opened her mouth against his. He kissed her fervently, hands moving to places he had always imagined touching. Down her sides, skimming soft curves. Her waist. Under her blouse, the smooth skin over her hip. Pulling her against him as he rocked his hips in a steady rhythm. Cradling her jaw, moving her head so he could kiss her deeper and deeper. He poured his whole heart into the way he touched her, silently completing his unspoken confession.

"Jareth," she breathed into his mouth.

His heart skipped a full beat at the sound. The fire blazing within his chest spread. It was on his lips and his hands as they moved over her. Every point of contact fed the fire and trailed a blaze back to his heart, consuming it with a scorching heat it had never felt before.

He did not stop kissing her, hot and hard, as he carried her still wrapped around him, up the stairs towards his bedchamber. He never wanted to be separated from those lips. Not now that he had known them. He had never felt anything more exquisite than this. He was kissing her, feeling her kiss him in return.

He would have her forever, he thought with a feral joy. _Mine!_ his heart sang. _Forever mine!_ He carried her down the hallway to the King's private room. The heavy door was closed, but that was no obstacle. Nothing ever would be again. He pushed her up against the door, shifting her in his arms so that he could press his sluggishly bleeding palm against the wood. They both melted through the door, locked together in a tangle of limbs and desire.

* * *

_Only one more chapter to go!_

_ALL of the thanks! to __**Ellie101**__ for helping me as a Beta for this chapter and the next one. If you haven't already, you should check out her latest story, 'Cradle'. It's seriously awesome. _

_See you in the final instalment of this story—Chapter the Sixth: A Love That Will Last. _


	6. A Love That Will Last

Chapter Six: A Love That Will Last

It is hard to measure exact time in the Underground, but a short while later, Sarah opened the door. She turned her head over her shoulder towards the dejected ball of misery curled up on silken sheets. "Don't worry about it. I'm sure that it happens to lots of guys."

Although he was ageless, this Jareth seemed so much older than the confident King who had carried his conquest into his room. He lifted his head. "Sarah… my Queen. You just have to wait for a minute."

She turned back to face him, her face carefully blank. "Uh, about that. You see, I was thinking. It might have been for the best. I mean, you _are_ the villain. Maybe we should just be friends."

The blood drained from his face. "Friends? Friends!? Tra-la-la?!"

"Yeah, you know. It might be nice to just keep things friendly. I mean, I wasn't really thinking straight, what with all of the craziness, but it would have really complicated things between us. Ha, lucky really."

He sat up in the bed, pulling up the sheets up to his chin in an attempt to gather his dignity. "Sarah. We are not made to be friends. We have been dancing with each other from the first day we met. We have played out righteousness and revenge; purity and power. I've been hot and cold, attentive, possessive, obsessive, enticingly enigmatic, irresistibly otherworldly and on rare occasions, breathtakingly tender—I have done everything for you!"

"Yes, yes. You've been… great," Sarah soothed.

"More than great! I bloody well deserve more than "significant-pause great"! I have single-handedly cultivated a sexual tension here so thick you could spread it on toast and feed a family of fifteen! I mean, lately, any time I've even looked at you… well… you know. It's not like my pants leave a whole lot to the imagination."

Sarah rolled her eyes and made a move to walk out of the room.

A note of desperation crept into his voice. "Sarah, love. Give me another chance. I'm only human!"

"No you're not—you're…." she wrinkled her brow as she thought of how she could classify him. "…an immortal magic fairy goblin-man."

He raised one eyebrow. "Yes, well. Even we have our off days. And even you have to admit that it is hard to perform at your best with everyone watching."

"Who?" she looked around the room.

"Ah. I keep forgetting that you cannot see those other worlds. We are being watched, I assure you. From beyond the fourth wall." He sighed, mournfully. "They all expect so much from me. Just because I've got a slightly sinister edge, they expect I must be mind-blowing in the bedroom…"

"Jareth? What are you talking about?"

"Not to mention the concentration it takes to make sure that time flows the right way in this land. It's alright for you—you only have to deal with the here and now. I mean, bloody hell, woman. I _am _a King. I have duties. Responsibilities. I'm under a lot of pressure here—it's hard enough to find the hours to do everything I need to get done in a day, even before I put in all of the high-maintenance stalking I do for you."

Sarah snorted. "That must be tough for you."

"Yes. Thankyou for your empathy. I'm sure that all of the pressures you face as a…" His nose flared slightly as though he had caught a faint whiff of bog-water, "…university student... means that you can understand the burdens of ruling an entire ever-shifting Kingdom."

He had wanted anything from her but pity and he was pleased to see that he had stung something closer to anger.

She gritted her teeth. "I work hard. Damn hard."

"Yes, of course. Working hard to become what? You'll have to remind me. A teacher, is it? Or is it something else, equally mundane?"

She flushed. "You know what? You can find out by looking through your stupid crystal balls, because from now on that is the only way you're going to see me." She stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

It seemed as though all the air in the room left with her. Jareth slumped down on the bed. He sat for a long while; alone with his grief. Just staring at the dirty bandage on his hand. Then, he squeezed it so tightly that the rags cut into his skin, turning it white; bloodless.

Eventually he mustered up enough energy to flick his wrist, conjuring three crystals into the palm of his uninjured hand. He set them spinning, faster and faster until they projected a single clear image of his true mate—his Sarah—stepping through the large mirror that led her out of his world.

He felt a spreading numbness as he stared down at the glass globes.

"Balls."

* * *

_Hi! natzone here. _

_Well, you can probably guess where I am. Please excuse the smell. Turns out, when I wrote this version of Jareth, I forgot to give him a sense of humour. _

_I have been politely (but firmly. VERY FIRMLY) asked to read this prepared statement: _

_This story is just an invention of the fevered mind of the author, who thought it might be funny to play with the idea of the Goblin King being "exhausted… trying to live up to the expectations" of the readers of his fanfiction. However, the author would like to make it clear that it is merely a fabrication. It would be obviously well within Jareth's considerable powers to have made Sarah his Queen that night. He added that if she doubted it, he would be pleased to extend her a kind invitation to put him to the test._

_Ok, I read the thing you gave me. Can I get out now? Hello? _

_Anybody?_

_Aw nuts._


	7. The Chapter Outside of Time

The Chapter Outside of Time

* * *

**This story is finished. The stage curtains have closed, the players have given their performances and the audience has gone home with their requests for refunds refused.**

** Time passes, as it does, and there is nothing left to do. The auditorium is silent, empty except for an elderly janitor who pushes an enormous broom along the sticky floor with swift strokes, stuck with the thankless job of cleaning up all of the leftover popcorn. (Any cleaner can tell you that popcorn is a snack with magic all of its own. It inexplicitly manages to find a way to spread itself along the floor of any place an audience has been, even if the nearest popcorn vendor happens to be in the next city over.) **

**This story is finished, because life doesn't give second chances.**

**Except that it isn't, because sometimes it does; especially if you happen to be a King who can control time.**

* * *

Imagine the face of a clock. And even though it's a very particular clock, in many ways it is just like any other; a physical manifestation and measure of the transitory nature of time.

Maybe this particular clock looks older than most, but don't let that distract you. And if you can, ignore its unusual shape, with its oversized golden spikes and spires. The shape doesn't matter—this clock is constantly changing its appearance, shifting slightly with each second. It looked different yesterday, and I'm sure you wouldn't be able to recognise it tomorrow.

That is, until you notice the extra number.

Now, look a little more closely, and you'll notice that the hands of the particular clock are moving. Nothing strange about that, except for the fact that they're moving the wrong way around the clock, crawling past the numbers in reverse.

And if you're ready for things to get stranger still, turn your head just a little to the left. Give your eyes time to adjust to the gloom, and you'll see another hand. But this is not the hand of a clock—this hand, wrapped clumsily in a bandage, belongs to the King who happens to be controlling the ancient clock, and even more impressively, the time around it.

This King is powerful; he had the power to influence time and reshape matter. This King is intelligent; he knew more about the mechanics of the universe than any other being, and could break down each infinite component into smaller pieces for use as his personal playthings.

This King is wild; Sarah had escaped.

Waves of overwhelming emotions threatened to wash away his customary composure. It was almost unbearable, the way his mind kept reminding him of vivid moments of the previous night, each one a fresh torture of meticulous detail. Her eyes, and the way they had softened as suspicion gradually gave way to something warmer. Her nearness, and the way that their bodies had melted together. Her heat, and the way that her skin had smouldered, the spark that had started an inferno. Her sudden absence. It would drive him mad, if it hadn't already.

Still, he managed to keep his hand perfectly steady as it wound the clock backwards, moulding time to fit his will. Remaining calm was important, even if it was near impossible. It was the only way that he could ensure there would not be any mistakes. Time manipulation had the potential to become… complex. Like any other thing in the universe, time resented being manipulated, and would always try to find paths of resistance. Even the smallest miscalculation could mean disaster.

But the alternative was no option at all. After the night he had just lived, and the way she had made him feel, there was simply no way he could face the infinite void of his life as it lay before him, stretched out to impossibility in a way it never had before. Unending, everlasting. Without her, it was just a cold endlessness; a living death.

The King laughed, but it sounded painful. He had realised the joke. Even though he could command time itself, his mind was stuck in a looped infinity, fixed on one girl.

Did she really think that she could run someplace he would not follow? Not even if she travelled to the most distant star. Not if she found another dimension, even more remote than his. Even in death he would find a way. He would always find her.

The plan was simple: he would replay the night, but this time, he would get it right. He will not let her go this time. Or would not. Or soon never shall have. Sometimes, it was hard to find the right words when it came to tampering with time.

His booted foot tapped against the floor, but the sound was muffled. All sound was muffled in this space that existed between time. The pointed hands on the clock continued to crawl backwards. Almost there now. Just a little more.

At first, the King had planned to go back to the very beginning and meet her for the first time again. But there were too many variables involved, and no guarantees that the strategy would work. What if she rejected him again, and there was no longer any past to rewind? No, it was far simpler to return to the recent past and re-tread a proven path.

Or perhaps he could go back to the moment when their lips first touched. Tempting. After all, how many lovers got to re-live their first kiss? But again, logic presented him with the same problem. The Jareth of right-now would act differently around Sarah than he had in the past—even against his own will, how could he not?—which would mean that she would react differently, setting off a chain reaction that could lead him right back to the same problem. She might leave him again. It was too risky.

In the end, he had decided that he needed to return to the point right before it had all started going wrong. Right before he had lost her.

Over on the face of the clock, the hands slowly wound down, eventually coming to rest at the exact time required. And… there. It was done. Too easy, really. The King smiled his sharpest smile. His entire existence had been leading to this point, guiding him to her. Suddenly, the forever of the future did not seem so bleak. Without looking back, he stepped through time and into his role once more.

"I will find you, Sarah. Wait for me."

* * *

_A/N: Surprise! This story is back. This Chapter is meant to act as a sort of bridge for the next Chapter, which will be the alternate ending for this story._

_'Consequences of Falling' was the first story I ever wrote that I decided to show to people who don't share my last name, so I can quite honestly say that I never expected it to have the sort of response that it got. I never dreamed that it would be read by so many people, or that it would be so kindly received. I'm still a little overwhelmed._

_I really loved writing this story, and I was over the moon to discover that there were some other people who enjoyed it too. The last chapter left most people feeling dissatisfied, though; and I can understand that—after all, that was the point. Everyone was meant to leave feeling unsatisfied, so... mission successful. Yay?_

_However, I've had a number of requests for an alternate ending, and you guys are all so darn cute that I couldn't resist._

_So, without further ado, prepare yourselves for Chapter the Seventh: In Which the Dark King Bends Time to His Will, and Our Heroes Find out What It Really Means to Fall._


	8. It's Only Forever

Chapter Seven: It's Only Forever

* * *

"I will find you, Sarah. Wait for me."

The King closed his eyes and, in the space of a breath, he let every rule and restriction fall away. It was like shedding his skin. He was no longer outside of time, for even in that place he was bound by limitations. Instead, he had stretched himself, expanding his entire existence until he belonged to all of time, present in every one of the universe's shifting seconds.

The feeling was something akin to flying. Or perhaps it was more like swooping; in the moment where he dropped from a great height, plummeting through the rush of emptiness in a barely controlled fall. Here, he was free of the weight of reality with all of its physical and magical laws. In this place where so few could survive, there was only the splendour of pure chaos; pure potential.

Outside of reality itself, he waited as the cold nothingness swirled and shifted to create a sequence of doors, sprawling further that the eye could see in both directions. Every door was different; uniquely linked to a different moment that called to him from the other side.

From here, it was as simple as a child's game. All he had to do was choose the right one, and the King had already made his decision—he was uninterested in all of the doors, but one.

He knew, in the same unthinking way he knew the exact distance her mouth would move when she laughed, which door he needed. It was not far to his left, painted in bright red, and complete with a solid brass handle; a stunning vision of simplicity. The door was an unfinished promise, and it spoke to him, enthralling him as surely as if she had been standing there herself. The King strode towards it, moving with feet that existed across all the ages.

He was only a few steps away from it—the key that would lead to her—when the mire of nothingness began to stir violently in the space before him. There was no weather here—no thunder, or wind; but the mists billowed wildly as if they were disturbed by the start of a storm, and the air turned chill with a sudden frost.

From the heart of the disturbance emerged three identical beings, born out of the shifting shadows of time. The colourless creatures were huge, easily dwarfing Jareth, and yet they appeared to have no shape of their own—they were only empty, cowled robes. The King stood in the shade they cast, steadily regarding the creatures whose faceless and formless figures blocked his path.

"Guardians," Jareth said, stopping. "You are in my way."

_Yes_, whispered one of the creatures, the hood of its robes nodding. _We mean to be_.

The Beast had been almost patient until now, restlessly waiting for the chase to resume; but now Jareth could feel it curl its upper lip to expose sharp teeth, snapping and snarling. If they meant to keep him from his chosen door, they would soon find that there were consequences to getting in his way. "You have never interfered before. Do you mean to stop me now?"

_Yes_, whispered one in a loud hiss.

_And no_, another finished.

The King clenched one fist. "I have no time for your riddles. Explain yourselves."

The three figures looked at each other without faces. _We are merely Guardians. We do not seek to keep you from your chosen door._

Another Guardian spoke up. Or it may have even been the same creature—they all sounded exactly alike, and Jareth had no way of keeping track of which one was talking. _We come bearing a warning._

"Well?" said the King. "Speak. It must be important, or you would not dare to delay me."

In their emotionless hiss, the Guardians spoke. _The particular moment you seek to return to is… important._

_It could change everything._

_The decisions you make on the other side of that door could have repercussions that echo throughout all of history. The fabric of reality could be altered forever._

The King gazed up at them with a guarded expression. "I fail to see the importance of that particular moment."

The Guardians were silent keepers of time, grown removed from all human emotions. Nonetheless, they seemed to react to this_. If you do not see anything special about that door, then why do you desire it so desperately?_

_Do not think to hide your hunger from us,_ hissed another.

The King remained silent.

After a pause, the soft voices spoke again. _That moment could change everything. _

_We will allow you passage… _

… _but it is not a journey without a price._

The faceless voices were starting to irritate Jareth. "Name it," he said.

In the void, the Guardians began to glide softly towards the King, like glass cutting through water. _If you choose to walk through that door, we will take something from you._

_A part of you will be gone forever._

_You will be less than you are._

_Incomplete._

The creatures only seemed to grow in size as they moved closer, but Jareth stood straight before them, keeping his gaze fixed on them steadily. "And I suppose you will not inform me beforehand of what you will remove."

_You are correct. You will not know until you are on the other side of the door. Perhaps not even after._

_We must take something from you to restore the balance, and there is a chance that you may never discover what you have lost._

_And remember, King—you have no guarantees that the girl will even choose you in the reality that you remake._

Jareth fought the urge to roll his weight onto the balls of his feet as the Guardians moved within reach, looking down on him from their great height. They paused, only for a moment, before they swept past him in their sluggish glide, parting to stand behind him and at each of his sides. The robes pressed in on him from every side, making the surrounding vastness around him seem too small.

_Knowing all this, will you still make the same choice?_

The path was now clear, and everything around the red door faded out of focus. Jareth took a few steps forward as though he was transfixed by the door that would lead to her. The huge creatures trailed after him closely, almost touching him on every side, but the King had almost forgotten their existence. He had come to a stop in front of the simple door, and for one sweet moment of madness, he could have sworn that he smelled her scent.

Their price did not matter to him. There was nothing they could carve from him that could compare to the hollowed out space she had left.

"Yes," he said. "I choose the door; I choose her."

From all sides, the robes rustled as six invisible arms reached out to touch him. He could not see them move, but he felt each of their cold fingers stab through his rib cage, piercing him with skeletal precision. A tight, squeezing pain quickly blossomed within his chest. He could not breathe—he was being crushed from the inside.

The swarming fingers moved around inside his chest; exploring. Against his will, Jareth convulsed, his muscles spasming as they searched. Icy tendrils spread from every area they touched, hooking around parts of him to dig deeper.

After what could have been a lifetime, they pulled their icy fingers out of his chest, leaving only pain.

Jareth took heaving breaths as soon as he could, filling his lungs as though he had been drowning. But in his greed for air, something caught in his throat. He was wracked with coughs, and so he covered his mouth with his bandaged hand. It came away covered with blood.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the colourless robes drift away, fading from sight. They had taken what they wanted.

Alone and weak, Jareth stumbled in the void, narrowly managing to catch himself on the door as he collapsed. There was no turning back now. The King pushed down on the brass handle and fell through into the moment that he had risked everything for.

* * *

_OK, so maybe more than one chapter. Ah, writing is too much fun._

_Please remember to review-it's always so lovely to hear from you._


	9. Makes No Sense to Fall

_*Peeks out from behind the fourth wall* _

_Sorry for taking so long to update… of course, just when the story is getting to the most awesome parts, Things Other Than Writing decide to intrude in my life. I mean, they are mostly good intrusions… I have a new baby nephew! Oh, if only there was a word for some sort of good thing that disrupts writing. _

_Saying that, I'd like to thank everybody who left a review… Before this chapter, reviews had mostly been about giving me confidence as a new writer, but I really understand how powerful they are as motivators now. _

_Ok, on with the story… _

_*Hides behind the wall again, and bricks it up firmly so that it won't break during the story*_

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Chapter Eight: Makes No Sense to Fall

Through the door, every passing moment was fresh pain.

But, to the King, it did not matter that his body was torn; bruised and bleeding. It did not matter that he could barely breathe. Everything was insignificant except that he was falling over the threshold of the door; falling back to her. His desire for the girl was his guiding star, the fixed point around which every other constellation in his universe revolved.

He passed through the door in a badly controlled stumble. Behind him, the door moved with a life of its own, slamming shut and sealing him in his new present. In spite of the pounding ache behind one of his eyes, Jareth tilted his head to the side to study the door with a detached curiosity. Although he had just moved through it, the door was now at an inexplicable distance from him, and it remained there, standing in the same spot, even after it had closed. It never had been before.

But, slowly, the red of the door seeped from its frame and it melted into a very different shape, ornate and wooden. It had changed into the door that belonged to this moment—it was the door to his bedchamber.

This was it. This was the moment in time he had strived for; fought for.

But within this new present, there was a new pain. It physically hurt, after knowing the freedom of being stretched over all time and space, to compress himself into the limitations of a single moment. His arms felt heavy and useless, and his legs could barely walk any distance at all. After being free of all the normal rules, reducing his body to one reality always felt like a small death.

He could still feel the spreading coldness in his chest as though the fingers were still digging there, worming their way through him in tendrils of ice. For one superstitious instant, he was not sure that they had in fact gone. After all, the Guardians were formless creatures—perhaps they had ripped out the part of him that they wanted, and left their invisible fingers behind.

His insides churned, rebelling at the invasion. They had torn him. Taken from him. And he could feel the loss as surely as though they had taken flesh and bone, even as he had no clue as to what was missing.

In the space of a second, his jacket was thrown to the ground and he yanked roughly at the collar of his shirt, splitting the material down the front. Smooth skin. Outwardly, they had left no sign; no indication of their assault. The only thing they had left was an empty feeling in his chest, where before he was whole.

Struck with a sudden thought, he pressed his bandaged hand against his naked chest. No, it was not that. His heart was still there; still beating strongly, thudding under his ribs. He released a heavy breath.

But it was not much of a relief—he was not accustomed to being unknowing, and he found that he disliked the feeling. Until he discovered exactly which part had been cut out of him, he knew that he would not have a moment of peace. The mystery of what used to fill the gaping cavity would torment him.

Perhaps they had taken memories. He scanned through his mind, trying to find any errors, or obvious gaps in his recollections. It did not seem that anything important was missing, but then, how could he be sure?

Or maybe they had taken his pride. Would he kneel before her and beg?

It could have been his courage. Perhaps he would be too weak now to even approach her; too afraid to open his mouth in case he said the wrong thing. Or maybe…

"Sarah," he said, low and quiet. They had not taken his voice.

With a shake of his head, he tried to push the questioning thoughts into the deepest recesses of his mind. Surely the missing part was not what was important now—not now that he was so close.

He blinked, trying to see clearly with the weak and tunnelled vision that two eyes provided. From a distance, he could see that the moment was all laid out before him like an unmoving play; and in this scene, two figures were pressed up against the door in a tangle of limbs.

The man closest to him… was himself. It was his own self from the past, as he had existed in that moment.

From his experience of moving through moments, Jareth knew that time would only start moving again once he made physical contact with that other King, who had been frozen in the act of kissing Sarah, joined so closely that they appeared to be carved into a single statue. Their arms were woven around each other, both trying to pull the other closer.

It was frustrating. From where he was standing, he could scarcely see the girl—his view was blocked by his own body; the one from the past.

With an effort, Jareth forced his mind into the present, and concentrated on the mechanics of making his feet work. After existing outside of time, the weight of gravity and the struggle to move against it made it seem as though he was dragging himself through drying cement. But he put one foot after the other; trying to get closer to her, to see past himself to her.

As he approached the tableau, he wondered at the unfamiliar hot and barbed emotion that unfolded itself somewhere in his stomach. But there it was, even though it made little sense—for the first time, he knew what it was to be jealous.

The past King was holding her with such a tender fierceness, pressed so firmly to her body that he was effectively caging her against the door with his entire body. But that was not the reason why he could taste bile. Rather, it was how clearly he could see that, in that moment, he had been… almost happy. The fool had been completely content to become lost in her, knowing that he needed nothing else.

He urged his feet to move more quickly now, sick of the sight of himself. That King was a stranger—a man who knew with an unjustified certainty that he had found happiness after a heartbreak, while all the time, blissfully unaware of the depths to which true suffering could sink a soul. Still heavy with an ancient sensation of disuse, he dragged his sluggish feet closer to the entwined lovers.

Jareth was soaked with sweat by the time he had closed the distance between them, but the effort was worth it. He was standing in front of the door, so close that he could reach out and touch her. Finally, at the end of a weary journey, he had made it back to her.

But something was not right. A part of him tried to block it out, to un-notice the detail, but it was too late. Even though she was trapped in the moment of passionately kissing the other King, her bright eyes were open, and she was looking past him. If eyes were the window to the soul, they told him everything he needed to know.

It changed nothing. Not really. But all the same, it was such a stark reminder—no matter how far he chased her; no matter how close he got to her; or how much he risked to reach her, he already knew how easily she could give it all up. How quickly she would walk away from him.

The poison in his stomach curdled. He had starved and sacrificed just for the chance to stand here, but it meant nothing to her. She did not deserve the happiness that she so thoughtlessly denied him. The venom spread through his body, building layers of anger upon anger. Clean, crisp fury. Before he even had time to process the thought, his hand punched out savagely at the heavy bedroom door with a blow that blasted it off its hinges.

The two figures stayed frozen in exactly the same spot. Without the support of the door, they should have fallen. It seemed wrong that they remained in precisely the same pose, with nothing but the air to hold them up.

Time had not yet restarted, but with one impulsive action, he had already started to change the direction of events from the original timeline. As soon as the world started moving again, she would fall.

Jareth looked down at his hand as though it was a foreign entity. The dirty bandage that she had gifted him with was beginning to unravel. The wound had been reopened and bleeding freely; a pulpy mess. She had done this, all of it. Almost with a will of its own, his bleeding hand moved past the King, towards the girl's throat.

Even in his darkest hour, he had never dreamed of hurting her. She was his best desire—the light that gave him the means to illuminate the shadows in himself. But now here was his damaged hand ghosting the skin of her neck, itching with an unknown energy. It would be so easy to break her fragile body, to bend it to his will. And there she was, stuck in a moment… she would never even know that he had done it. She would never be able to accuse him with those eyes.

His hand trembled, straining with the effort of remaining unclosed over her throat, and his fingers brushed against her skin. Against his icy hand, she was so warm and soft. She was heat, and beauty, and life. He took a deep breath and pulled his hand back to fall by his side, useless. He would be more than an animal.

Panting, he moved closer, attempting to position himself in the line of her unblinking vision. He tried to catch her eye; to pretend that she was truly looking at him. But they remained fixed past him on some other point, never quite focusing on the man who stood before her.

What was it about her eyes? Her face, her body, and her smell were all constantly running through his mind, reproduced and recycled until they were all he thought about; but, try as he might, he could never replicate that elusive spark in her eyes. It was something that not even his imagination could capture.

But he had time now. This moment would be frozen for as long he wanted. His mouth set in a grim line of determination. If he just looked at her for long enough, studied her from every angle, he would certainly be able to define what it was; the part of her that always managed to escape him.

He moved his face in front of her, first to the left, then to the right as though he was slowly hypnotising her. Her features were caught in a moment of half-light, partly shadowed by both of his bodies, and partly lit by the firelight. She was so excruciatingly lovely.

Moving was no effort now. He passed through the space where the door had been and walked around the two, never taking his gaze from her. Completing the circle, he came as close as he could to her side, leaning in as though her body was whispering the secret he needed to know. From there, it was just a few extra inches, and he was softly brushing his lips against her cheek.

When he opened his eyes again, he stood still; as frozen as the statues beside him. Strings. Stretching out in every possible direction from where he stood with Sarah, like a million points of a compass, were strings of various thicknesses and colours. He did not move, except to turn his head and stare at the threads in wonder.

He had seen something like this only once before, but that one time, there had only been a single string. Now there were more than he could count. The strings must be all the possible threads reaching into the future; the million different ways that this single moment could fracture. As soon as he made his choice, he would follow that single thread through to the next moment and all others would be cut.

He would have given anything to know which thread would lead to the brightest future, but he had no way of knowing. He could not see where the strings led past this moment.

The King was… strangely uncertain. He had always had confidence in his ability to follow her anywhere, find her anyplace. It had become the cornerstone of his existence. But what if she rejected him again? What if this was his last chance? What if there was nothing he could do that would make a difference? Maybe every thread would lead to her leaving him.

Before he had walked through the door, everything had been so simple. Hunt, pursue, and have. Everything had been so… clear.

And it was then that the King knew what they had taken from him.

He took a step away from her, and then moved in close one more time. It would take a stronger will, or a weaker desire than he possessed to stop him from touching her again, knowing that it may be the last time he ever got the chance.

Careful to distance himself from the other King, he touched his lips to her skin. He touched her feathery brow, her cheekbone, the freckle just above her ear. He breathed her in and feasted on the scent, over and over again.

There. That was enough.

He slowly pulled away from her and nodded his head once. He had made up his mind.

He reached out to touch his past body. As soon as his fingers touched that familiar stranger, he was sucked into the moment; swept into the present by a powerful current. Time stuttered to a new start and moved once again.

This was his chance to change everything.

* * *

_Blinking heck, this is turning into a novel._

_I promise that I'll have the next chapter published much more quickly (yay long weekend!)—and we'll find out what the Guardians took, and the ways that Jareth will try to rewrite history. I _think _that there's only two chapters left. _

_ But I have to leave things there for the moment—my younger brother is bringing a girl home to meet the family, and I have a lot of planning to do if I want to make it as awkward as possible. You understand. _


	10. I Ask For So Little

Chapter Nine: I Ask For So Little

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This was the moment he had planned for—the moment when everything would change. He held it mapped out in his head; all of the ways that their actions and reactions could splinter the moment, sending it spiralling in different directions. He had already been here once before, so he knew what she would do. His decision had been made, and he knew how he would act. Now that it was finally time for action, Jareth knew that he was ready.

He was wrong.

Nothing could have prepared him for the crashing waves of sensation that hit him all in the space of a second. He had not even known how numb he had been until he felt the thawing effect of her warmth. Somehow, she could always burn away the nothingness that had come before.

As soon as he stepped into the stolen moment, her scent stung him, and it was like she had never been gone. And the noise. For so long, all he had heard was a muffled silence, so that now, even the simple night noises of his world sounded like a roar in his ears.

Hands. They were moving over his body with an urgency he had forgotten, touching him; making him feel. She slid her hands from the skin of his stomach up to his chest, raking him with her nails as they moved, waking his numbed nerves.

This was not observing from a comfortable distance. This was not removed intelligence. All of his careful preparation was lost.

The King fought for control. He could control this, just as he always did. He could detach. But then he felt her mouth crushed up against his, moving in an unstudied rhythm, and it was like an irresistible force reaching down to drag him from a watery grave. There was no power that could have stopped the flood of emotions that engulfed him—he no longer desired control. She was kissing him back to life. He was alive again.

And then, time ticked over to the next second and she began to fall. The door. It was gone.

His first thought: let her fall.

The idea rattled around in the dark absence in his chest, trying to find a place to take hold. It would only be fair, after all. She had shown no remorse about plunging him into the depths of the abyss. He could let her fall; he knew that he could. It was one of the possibilities he had seen on the strings.

It wouldn't even be a decision, really. He simply needed to do nothing; let her fall. No-one could accuse him of any wrong doing-the blame would lie solely at the feet of the cruel laws that governed this reality. She would fall, and her breakable body would hit the hard stones again. Time moved slowly, or maybe it was just his thoughts that were moving so sluggishly. She was surely too close to the ground for him to be able to save her, anyway.

But then his arms were moving against the quicksand of gravity, shooting forward to wrap themselves around her body and pull her up against him. For a minute, he felt her heart pressed up against his and it seemed as though the two muscles were racing each other. Then, he stood her upright, making sure that her weight was supported by her shaky legs before he let her go. He backed away from her; moving to a safe distance.

The girl blinked, looking over her shoulder to where the thick slab of door was laying at her feet. Her eyes widened, then looked up again to where he was standing a few steps away. "What happened?"

He made no reply.

She took a small step towards him, but he slid backwards the same distance. "Jareth? What's going on?"

He avoided her gaze. The words would not come.

"Are you alright?" She moved forwards again and continued to follow him as he backed up, even when his back hit the wall opposite his bedroom. She tilted her head to the side, in the way she always did when she was trying to find the solution to a difficult puzzle. "Is it your hand?"

Two small hands reached down and gently took hold of his bandaged hand. She pulled the hand towards her, and tenderly kissed his battered knuckles with lips that had been bruised by their shared passion.

It hurt to look at her; his Sarah. She was standing there quietly, holding his hand, looking up at him. The blacks of her eyes were wider than usual, giving them a darker appearance. His Sarah, her dark hair messed in tangles. His Sarah, with flushed skin. She was surrounded by a pure light that was difficult to look at directly.

And what of him? Was he anything but a beast? He alone knew the darkness of his thoughts; the shadowed void of his heart. But he had been given the chance to change. He knew what he had to do, even as it cut him to the bone. This would be the hardest and the best decision he had ever made.

He pulled his wounded hand from hers. As his hand slipped out of her hold, he felt his skin brush against her fingers, and it tingled at every point of contact. When he spoke, his voice sounded raspy. "Go, Sarah."

"What's going on?" Her face was closed, confused. "Something's changed."

More than she could possibly know. "You need to go, Sarah. Now."

"But why?"

"It's simple, really. I've had my fun, and now I'm done with you." He was pleased to hear that his voice was stronger now. Twisting the truth was his specialty, after all.

She opened her mouth to say something, but she made no sound. In was hard to see in the flickering torchlight, but it appeared as though her eyes were slowly welling with water, and the small droplets threatened to spill out from under her lids every time she blinked. Each drop was like a shard of ice piercing his heart.

Her shoulders slumped. Still facing him, she took a step backwards; away. Slower still, she took another, and then she turned and started running.

He let her go. With each passing second, the distance between them grew larger, and with every step she took, the ache in his heart grew stronger. The King stood tall, watching her leave. He held his head fixed at its usual arrogant angle until he was sure that there was no way she could observe him. Then, he collapsed back against the wall, no longer trusting in his ebbing strength for support. Slowly, with his back leaning heavily against the wall, his weary bones slid down until they rested on the cold floor.

The Guardians had cut out a part of him, and now he was even more certain of what they had removed. It was so like them—they were always so concerned about maintaining balance. They had taken his constant companion, the voice that had served him in the absence of a conscience for so long. They had taken away the pure simplicity of the hunt. They had taken the Beast. No longer bound to the Beast, they had freed him of an endless life of following a single thread.

And now, for the first time, he felt that he might be something more than an animal. He had done the right thing, he knew it. Now all that was left to do was to sit here and wait until the cold, hard thing that was his heart turned to stone. "Be happy, Sarah," he whispered into the nothingness.

All of a sudden, something flicked him on the ear.

"You idiot," she said, but her voice sounded strangely affectionate. "Is this you trying to be noble?"

His heart stuttered. She had returned.

"Come on. Get up." She reached her hand down and helped him stand to his feet. "You're not very good at it, you know."

He stood, dazed. "What?"

"The whole self-sacrificing thing," she said, brushing some dirt off his shoulder.

"Yes, well. Trust me, it's new." Somewhere inside him, hope broke loose its bonds and stretched, glad to be free. "Sarah? Is that really you? Have you really come back to me?"

"Of course it's me," she said. "And who wouldn't come back? You were crying loud enough to wake the dead."

"I was not," he said, quickly wiping at his face. "I would never."

One of her eyebrows raised markedly, and the moment hung tense in the air. Then she started laughing. It was a pleasant sound, not weighted down by any trace of bitterness or mockery. The laugh was like rain to a dry river bed.

Unbidden, a smile broke out on his face.

She closed the distance between them and kissed him. It was a kiss, nothing more. And yet, the simple act seemed more like an unspoken promise of something more important.

He pulled his head back, staring at her with wonder. "Sarah… is this really what you mean to do?"

Her eyes looked straight at him, and he could see the spark dancing there. She was looking at him with such open tenderness that his heart leaped. "Yes," she said. "I do." Then she took his hand and led him through the open space where his bedroom door had been.

The King had often wondered why humans described their love by talking about fire. But for the rest of the night, he felt their passion blaze through his veins like molten lava, and he knew.

Above them, in the night's sky, the stars sung.

* * *

Yay! Alternate ending! Let me know what you think about this (second) ending. Hopefully it's satisfying to everyone who requested an ending more fitting to Gothic Romance (Alas, poor genre, how I have baffled thee!).

Stay tuned for the epilogue, in which none of your questions will be answered—unless you want to ask, "…and what happened then?"


	11. In Search of New Dreams

Epilogue: In Search of New Dreams

As the first light of the sun streamed through his bedchamber window, the King stirred, somewhere pleasantly between awake and dreaming. Not ready yet to open his eyes, he nestled closer to the warm body beside him and sighed with satisfaction, basking in the warm glow of the morning.

This was happiness. He was happy.

His thoughts swirled in contented circles, languorously exploring a feeling that had never made sense before. Happiness. It was like something sharp and soothing and pure was squeezing at his heart. It felt more real than anything else. He smiled softly against his pillow, burning every second of the night they had shared into his brain.

If only this moment could last forever. There was a part of him that wanted to break the hands off all the clocks, to make sure that they would never move again. However, somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew that they would both have to wake up soon. Later, the reality of the new day would hit him and he would have to face another set of new choices.

Even though he didn't want to wake, somehow Jareth found that he was anticipating the moment when he would open his eyes. He felt like a small human child about to unwrap a present, already knowing that it was exactly what he had always wanted. He would get to see her again. As soon as he opened his eyes, it would be the start of building a life with her. The only problem was that he had no idea what their life together would look like.

Would they rule as one, sitting side-by-side on thrones of bone and blood? Somehow the image jarred in his sleepy mind. She did not fit the picture. Similarly, he struggled to visualize Sarah kneeling before him with the rest of his subjects, cowering at his terrible power. His imagination faltered when he tried to bend her body at the knees. She would simply not be the same person without her fight.

Then an alarming thought wandered into his mind. Perhaps she would want him to join her in her world? He had the sinking feeling that he would walk the world over if she just gave the word—even if it meant living Aboveground. But could he ever make a home in that dimension, crawling as it was with petty, selfish humans? The idea of dressing like them and eating like them left a bad taste in his mouth. Then again, he had been acting bizarrely… human… lately. She seemed to coax it out of him. Perhaps with Sarah by his side, the experience might even be pleasant.

He had no idea of the future. That was the power that had been given to him. Every single moment from here on out had the potential to splinter in a million different directions, changing everything—all he had to do was choose the right thread. He would use his heart and his hands to build them a life that they could share, and they would find a way to be together. That was the best part—he would not have to make the choices alone. The King smiled so widely that his cheeks hurt, savouring the sensation of being filled with unfamiliar and freeing emotions.

For right now, though, there was no rush to sort out the rest of their lives. Those were future challenges that they would combat together. None of these problems belonged to the right now. For now, there might just be enough time before the goblins got back… with the scent of Sarah still in his lungs, he leaned over and opened his eyes, realising just in time that he was moving in to kiss one of the biggest and ugliest of his goblins, who was currently locked in his arms.

Every citizen of the Labyrinth froze. Birds stopped singing mid-song.

Without moving his head, the King could see at least twenty of his subjects, crowded in and around his bed, leaning in towards him, interested to see what he would do next.

Jareth calmly pulled his arms back to his sides and sat up in the bed. Then, with the same mad calmness, he reached to the floor beside his bed and picked up his pants. He dressed himself under the covers.

Time dragged by slowly, until Jareth opened his mouth. "Why…" he managed to say before he had to take a deep breath to compose himself, "… are you all here?"

With permission to speak, the noise in the previously peaceful room was deafening.

"One at a time!" Jareth roared.

The goblins all looked at one another and nodded. After a quick game of rock-scissors-paper, in which all but one of the goblins chose rock, their elected leader spoke. "You told us to come back in the morning, so here we are, Sire."

"Look! The sun's up and that means it's morning."

"Yep, yep. We are clever, aren't we, King? We did just what you asked."

They all began to nod so vigorously that Jareth was surprised their heads didn't come off. Pity, it would save him the bother of having to do it himself. In a flash, he was out of the bed and pacing the room. "What I mean, you cretins, is why are you in my… oh, never mind." He waved his hand, dismissing it as unimportant. "Where is the girl?"

The goblins quaked. There was something about that voice that was sharp enough to even pierce through the thick fog of stupidity that surrounded them. They knew that voice—it was like a promise of an all-expenses paid one-way ticket to the Bog. "What girl, Sire?" one brave goblin ventured.

Jareth struggled to quench his rising desperation. She was gone. It did not really matter where she had gone, or how. All the dreams of his future possibilities crumbled, as though he had built them from nothing but shifting sand. What mattered was that she had left him… again.

He should give chase, pursue her until he was nothing but dust… but if she had made her choice… then he could do nothing. Every part of his body suddenly felt too heavy to hold upright anymore, and he threw himself back on the bed.

It probably would not have worked between them anyway. They were so different. She was exhausting, barely worth the effort. Maybe it was for the best. He shook his head, suddenly tired of all the pathetic untruths. The truth was, he had fought and he had lost. The truth haunted him, even behind closed eyes, where all he could see were memories of their time together, branded onto his brain.

A kiss, that ended up being more than a kiss. A chase that lasted all night. Every part of her connected to every part of him. The feeling of wholeness, of belonging. Everything new, everything exposed. Raw. Elemental. Even at the time, in his wildest heart of hearts, he knew that she had left him changed; reborn.

He let out a breath. He was becoming just like them; the greedy humans. Before he had stolen the moment of time to live again, all he had wanted was a night with her, just like the one he had just lived. He had never thought past it, hadn't even known there could be anything else. Now that he knew there was more, he wanted it.

In the past, he would have relied on the snarling voice of the Beast at times like these. Without it, he was lost. Suddenly, the King's head snapped up. That was right. He had changed. Jareth slid from the bed and stood upright with the grace of a panther. He had changed, and was still changing. He would not hound her. But that did not mean that he would simply give her up, now that he could see all of their futures. They needed to talk.

The crowd of goblins parted before their King as he strode through the room towards the exit. Several of them trailed behind him, as though they were pulled along by a magnetic force, which meant that when he stopped abruptly after only a few paces they all bumped into his backside.

Sarah may have been gone, but she had left something behind.

Sticking out of the fallen bedroom door was her knife, made of iron, used to pin a scribbled piece of paper. Jareth approached the note, careful not to touch the blade. It was her handwriting.

He read the message, and then reread it. It was only a short note, barely a sentence, but it changed everything. By the time he had finished, his eyes held a new spark.

He looked down, and for the first time, he noticed that she must have cut more of her skirts in order to wrap around the palm of his uninjured hand. Both of his hands were covered now—there was no way he could use magic. For a moment, he could almost hear her laughing voice: "No cheating this time." She would know if he had removed the material wrapped around his hands—nobody could possibly replicate her clumsy style of bandaging.

As always, she was several steps ahead of him; his clever girl. The happy feeling bubbled up inside Jareth again until he could no longer contain it. The goblins were treated to the sound of their sovereign laughing freely, and it was gilded with an edge of pure light they had never heard before.

So, she had left her weapon behind, and had taken away his magic. She knew him better than he had thought; maybe better than he knew himself.

He stood at the opening to his room, grinning, and it was sharp, and something more. He wondered which way he should go. In the excitement of the moment, it barely mattered. The chase was about to begin again, and this time, he knew that it would last a lifetime.

He took his first step, with her written words echoing in his head.

'Catch me, if you can.'

* * *

_I hope you enjoyed my story!_

_Hang on, was this even an epilogue? Maybe it was just a final chapter. I guess I just wanted to call it an epilogue… all of the cool kids have one. _


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